


The Run

by sasha_b



Series: Live By The Sword [60]
Category: King Arthur (2004), Original Work
Genre: M/M, implied slash and language.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2019-05-17 23:26:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14841221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sasha_b/pseuds/sasha_b
Summary: exercise and thoughts.





	The Run

**Author's Note:**

> a _Sword_ 'verse snippet for fun. I walk through this really gorgeous neighborhood when I'm working out and there are two homes that jumped out at me. I've been thinking of A and L ever since.
> 
> This is set directly after **Crush** in this same series, during Lance's time at the police academy. 
> 
> Originally posted May 2009, new edit June 2018.

 

Arthur had always thought it strange when people _drove_ places in order to walk or jog.  Nevertheless, here he was on the bike, the engine ticking softly as he sat, the leather seat a bit warm on his shorts-clad butt.  Normally he’d never ride without his legs being covered, but the ride and the mode of transportation had been sort of spur of the moment and he’d been dressed for working out and besides….

Lance wasn’t home, and Arthur wasn’t sure if he was in class or at the library or getting food or just trying to stay away from Arthur in general. Not that they were having problems, but after the other night and the bath and Lance admitting –

Arthur snorted and swung his leg over the bike, standing up. He locked his helmet to the seat and, after tucking his keys and phone into the small arm band case he wore, began to stretch. His long legs stuck out into the deserted street, and he breathed deeply of magnolia and evergreen and oak. The frogs had begun their sunset cacophony, and the few people who passed him were quick and silent as they trotted by with their dogs toward home. He wondered if anyone walked alone here anymore, but shrugged as he started out on the sidewalk – he was a grown man and a trained police captain.  And anyway, he’d lived here not so long ago, so he wasn’t worried.

The neighborhood looked pretty much the same. Arthur flexed his calves and thighs as he warmed up, his pace slow but steady, and he was about three blocks down before he realized he’d left his headphones in his saddlebags. He started to turn, but a familiar sight caught his eye and he corrected his course, keeping to the sidewalk for now and heading back the way he’d started.

The large building took up two full city blocks and was still squat and ugly and made Arthur shudder as he came to the fence that surrounded it. He’d only spent one year here, but regardless; it had been _high school_ , and no matter how good your time had been there…it was still jail.  That’s what Lance had called it, and upon reflection Arthur smiled although it was small and tight. He kept up his pace and did not slow to see if the gate was unlocked or to see if he could get one glance inside the building.  He had his memories of that place and all the good ones involved Lance. That was enough for him.

He started to jog slowly as his body gradually loosened, and he left the school behind without a second thought. The air, while humid, was cool on his face and he could smell the Pacific; the salt and the sand and the leftover sun that had baked the dunes creating a true smile on his face as he sped up and left the sidewalk. His worn but still well loved trainers pounded the concrete and soon he left all worry and thought behind as the singing of the frogs and the smell of trees and the sound of the nearing surf filled up any holes he had in his consciousness.

He ran.

The houses flashed by and the sun neared the horizon, but Arthur’s eyes were on the bend in the road ahead of him and suddenly he had to stop for a random car – he glanced to his right as he gathered his breath, and his heart slammed a few awkward beats in his chest and his feet stopped moving.

The red and cream brick was stunning at this time of day, and he’d forgotten about the small scrollwork on the fence. His mother had loved that little detail even when Uther had thought it was ostentatious, but Arthur’s father had left it up because Lena had liked it.

Slowly Arthur stepped up on the curb; no one seemed to be home at the moment, so he approached the house up the front drive. He wiped an oddly nervous hand over his brow and walked to the side of the house, peering through the fence that separated the driveway from the back and the servant’s quarters.  He’d stayed in the back after his mother had died. Uther had not been in a good place then, and Arthur had been happier to just live his own life away from his father’s overwhelming mourning and crushing grief. Arthur had had his own grief to deal with – and his father had turned to his drink more often than not.

Biting his lip, Arthur raised his hands and wrapped his fingers around the iron bars. He pressed his sweaty face against them, his eyes straining for a better look at the second smaller house on the other side. The smaller house that had been his shelter until he’d left his father’s home completely.  A noise broke his reverie; two kids were exiting the door that lead to the servant’s quarters, talking and gesturing wildly and laughing. Arthur backed away quickly as he didn’t want the family that lived here now to think he was trying to break in or snoop; he thought he might be able to tell them he’d lived there before and just wanted a look around.  He cocked his head and then moved forward with the intent to catch the kids and ask them if he could come in briefly, but they got into a bright green Jag and the gate to the driveway opened and he had to jump to avoid being run over.

The kid in the passenger seat looked at him as they passed – and Arthur stared after the car until he couldn’t see it on the street anymore. The gate slowly shut behind him, soundlessly and perfectly closing on its oiled hinges.

The sun was just a sliver on the horizon when he reached the apex of his run; he was panting and pouring sweat and his muscles were screaming at him to slow down. He paused, running in place at the junction of two streets, trying to decide the next step.

_Fuck it._ He turned left and began the winding way up the private street that held five houses – but there was only one he was interested in.

He slowed to a walk as he passed the third home. The trees grew thicker and the street divided into one way lanes; the green belt in the middle held a sidewalk but he stayed at the edge of the lane. No one would be coming down this way at this time of day – the people were either home or not going to be coming home.  Arthur knew every family that lived on this street, and recognized some of the cars in the driveways. Each home was different; some had brickwork, others had a gothic feel, one even had gargoyles perched on its roof.

He turned the last bend and stopped, his chest heaving as he waited for his lungs to catch up from the long climb up the road. Lance had always bitched about having to walk this way _after_ school; he thought it evil that he had to walk home _uphill_ after spending all day in class. 

The fairy lights that covered the large oaks had just been switched on, and Arthur took a step onto the stairs that lead to the front door. He wound his way slowly up the steep entry, knowing that no one would be home. He actually still had a key on his chain but would be damned before he’d use it.  He licked his dry lips and put his hands on his hips when he gained the top of the stairs. His heart had slowed and he was breathing normally, but just looking at this place gave him a small amount of anxiousness that he did not welcome.

Why had he come here?

He ran a hand through his sweat soaked hair, shoving it off his face, and followed the path around the house to the back. The gate was unlocked as it always was and he passed through, the old squeaking from the hinges making him smile as he walked on. The lights were on here too and he crossed to the back patio as the sounds of the frogs and night bugs rose in a symphony around him.  He sat in one of the wrought iron chairs; the padding of the seat was plump and soft and he regretted briefly the sweat he’d be leaving on the furniture, but gradually forgot that as he tilted his head back.

He could see the trellis that he and Lancelot had climbed many times to access the balcony that ran the length of the house; Lance and Guinevere’s rooms had sliding glass doors that led there. He raised a hand, tapping at his lips as his eyes traced the path that was so familiar it probably had shoe groves worn into it. Lance's father would have literally killed him if he’d known what his son was doing on the Friday nights Lance told him he was at the coffee shop with his sister.  Granted sometimes they did go to the Bean with Gwen, but more often than not they were either sitting in the park talking or at the beach with beer that Lance had procured for them in ways Arthur still did not know. He also still didn’t _want_ to know; back then Lance had just been a mystery that Arthur had found attractive and secretive and he would have given anything to have that forever.

He did have it. But now it wasn’t so much a mystery as it was consuming and confusing love, and anger, and attraction and desire and everything that Arthur couldn't figure out about why he loved Lance.  He did love him, more than life, and the sigh that shot out of his nose hurt.

He sat still remembering until the sun was completely gone and the mosquitoes began to come out in force. Reluctantly rising to his feet, Arthur made to go – but approached the ivy covered trellis and put a hand out. The wood felt warm and the plant life was lush and thick and green – and Arthur’s eyes slid shut, the burn from unshed moisture forcing him to remain where he was for longer than he cared to be there.  The ghost of memories flittered around him, and he opened his damp eyes and stared upward at the second story and the door to Lance's old room.  So much had happened there, so much and he smiled through his memories and let go of the trellis, stepping away from his thoughts and the past.

When he got back to his bike and settled himself on the seat, his body really protesting the long run now, he dug his phone out of the arm band holster and flipped it open.

_three missed calls_

Two were work; he’d deal with those in the morning. The last one had him alternately smiling and pinching his lips together.  Deleting the message, he pressed one number for speed dial and waited.

_Where are you?_

The corner of his mouth pulled up. “I’m actually by the beach.”

_You should have told me. I would have met you there._

“Huntington Beach.”

A pause. Then, _What are you doing all the way out there?_

“I had an urge to be masochistic.” He laughed but knew it sounded forced.

_You always did invite pain easily, Arthur._

Arthur thought that was supposed to be a joke, but he wasn’t sure. He cleared his throat and sighed as the night air really began to cool the drying sweat on his legs and back. “You all right?”

_I need you to be here, and then I’ll be fine._

Arthur smiled softly into the phone even though Lancelot couldn’t see it. “I’m on the way, Lance.”

_Get some ice cream._

Arthur laughed, a full throated sound that wiped away the traces of memory and sadness that came with them. “What kind?”

_Something decadent. How about chocolate caramel?_

“Perfect,” Arthur answered; he stuck the key to his bike in the ignition and started the Triumph. The engine purred quietly and for a moment there was nothing but soft breathing down the line.

_Come home, Arthur._

Arthur swallowed and ignored the feeling of full eyes again. “I love you.”

_I love you, too. Especially if you bring me ice cream._

Another barking laugh. Arthur murmured one last endearment before closing the phone, and he pulled the arm band off with a loud ripping sound, stuffing the Velcro coated thing into one of his saddlebags. The phone sat on top and he closed the bag with a plastic-y bang.  He pulled the bike forward and revved the engine, but then stopped as he gazed around him. It had been a long time since he’d been out this far south from the city – and he wasn’t sure it had been the best idea to come.  He’d tell Lance that the houses looked great and that he had only briefly passed by them as he ran. That would be better than the truth –

the Triumph roared at the gentle touch of the throttle, and Arthur reached the freeway within moments. The moon lit his way and the burning salt-filled wind pulled the small amount of tears that were left from his eyes.  He’d get the ice cream and he’d go home. And next time he’d go running in the canyon; the hills and trees and green so different from the sun baked beach and the windy boardwalks of his youth.

He thought he might get some wine too.  Lance was waiting, with no more memories and no more self-inflicted hurt.

Arthur sped up and the freeway flew past him in a blurred rush, the colors blending into one huge streak of white.

~


End file.
